


archie

by romanticalgirl



Series: December Ficlets 2007 [24]
Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 20:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally posted 12-03-07</p>
    </blockquote>





	archie

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 12-03-07

He does his best not to think, not to remember. It’s hard in here, alone, in the dark with nothing to keep him company but his memory and the rats, nudging at his skin, chattering at him, cursing him for invading their space, an intruder in their midst.

He draws patterns on the rocks, sees words behind his eyes. He mutters the remembered phrases, the only thing he’ll allow to slip past the wall in his mind. He is Lady Macbeth and a dying Lear, he is Henry and Richard, a cast of thousands of which he is all and none. Nurses and fairies, priests and rulers, kings and queens and witches somewhere far away.

It is only when the words desert him that the truth of the matter slips in, that the walls close in tighter. Only then that his fingers scratch at the rock, his cries slip out into the night like a wounded animal. It is then that the rats fear him more than he fears them, then that he beats his chest and strains against the chains that hold him. Only then that he remembers.

What he’s lost swamps him, drowns him more than the raging storm. All he can taste is regret on the rain, death lingering in dark corners, beckoning him closer. There is no reason to live, no reason to fight. He has fought this far and there is nothing left. No hope of escape, no hope of discovery. There is just this pit, this black.

His memory crowds him – laughter and camaraderie and stolen kisses, rough canvas against his skin and a lover’s touch to smooth it. It crowds him and smothers him with regret, snuffs out hope like a candle in the wind. 

They will come for him soon. The moon has waxed and waned and it is time. He wonders if they’ll bother now that he’s broken or if this is his grave around him, holding him in a never-ending embrace.


End file.
